Chapter 8: A Flurry of Goals

After Goulart's shot was blocked, the ball rebounded to the edge of Chongqing Lifan's penalty area. Lifan's goalkeeper, Sui Weijie, immediately scrambled to his feet. Seeing where the ball landed, he relaxed slightly—Lifan’s Liu Weidong had just returned to the box and was closest to the ball, barely two meters away. Calm and steady, Liu Weidong had no intention of risking a mistake; instead, he was ready to clear the ball out of bounds.

“Hurry!”

But just as Liu Weidong swung his right leg, his teammate Sui Weijie shouted urgently. Still confused, Liu felt his leg slice through empty air—he had kicked nothing, and the ball, which should have been under his control, instead soared toward the open goal!

It turned out that, right after Goulart’s powerful long-range shot, the ball entered the penalty area and Dai Zhiwei instinctively charged toward the goal. Driven purely by instinct, Dai had surged forward before Sui could reach the ball, leaving Chongqing Lifan's defenders Sun Jihai and Layil behind.

Heaven favored him—the ball was blocked by Sui Weijie, and Liu Weidong rushed to clear it. Liu was fast, but Dai Zhiwei was faster. With a big stride, he planted his right foot hard into the turf, slid in, and his left toes stabbed the ball straight toward the empty net, just ahead of Liu.

A dull thud, then the swish of the ball striking the net—and a wave of jeering swept through Yanghe Stadium.

After sending the ball flying, Dai Zhiwei quickly regained his balance and collapsed onto the ground. He wasn't sure if his hurried toe-poke would actually go in—after all, Lifan’s goalkeeper had just been sprawled on the ground after saving Goulart’s shot.

“This was almost an open goal—surely it won’t go wrong?” Dai wondered, quickly scrambling to his feet. Then he saw the ball nestled in the net.

At that instant, as the ball crossed the line, Dai felt a rush of relief and excitement flood his mind. He jumped, pumped his fist, then threw his head back and let out a primal roar.

His shout was drowned in the stadium’s massive jeers, but he felt a thrill all the same!

“A beautiful follow-up! Guangzhou Evergrande Taobao scores in the 83rd minute! There’s not much time left for Chongqing Lifan!”

As Dai Zhiwei scored, the handful of Guangzhou Evergrande Taobao fans who had traveled to the away match leapt from their seats, arms raised, cheering wildly!

Excited, Dai Zhiwei broke free from his teammates’ embrace, ignoring their celebrations, and dashed straight to the sideline camera. He turned, his back to the lens, lifted both hands, and pointed to the name on his jersey.

Dai.z.w!

From today, remember this name—Dai Zhiwei!

After proudly displaying his name to the camera, Dai faced his teammates swarming toward him.

Goulart rushed over and grabbed Dai in a tight hug.

Although his long-range shot had been blocked by Sui Weijie, and Dai's goal meant he wouldn't get an assist, Goulart, the current undisputed core of Evergrande, was delighted to secure victory for his team.

Other teammates followed, crowding around Dai Zhiwei.

“Well done, kid!”
“We’ve got this in the bag!”
“You better treat us to dinner soon!”

Everyone congratulated Dai for his goal, happy not just for him but for the team’s impending victory—his goal had come in the 83rd minute, and with stoppage time barely ten minutes, it was almost certain that Guangzhou Evergrande Taobao would take the win.

Dai Zhiwei couldn't stop smiling, enveloped in the joy of scoring.

Two consecutive matches coming off the bench—perhaps his starting spot was no longer far away?

“Ding-dong!”

Just then, the system’s notification sounded in Dai’s mind, signaling some kind of reward, but the tone was slightly different from before.

With the game still tense, Dai couldn't check it, forced to anxiously endure the final minutes.

Although Chongqing Lifan, backed by their home crowd, launched a fierce offensive in the last ten minutes, Evergrande Taobao’s full defensive line held firm, leaving Lifan powerless.

In the dying moments, Augusto’s powerful shot from outside the box missed by a wide margin, and referee Boll blew the whistle to end the match.

Chongqing Lifan had to swallow the bitter pill of defeat at home, as the defending champions collected three points thanks to goals from local strikers Gao Lin and Dai Zhiwei.

…

“Eh? What’s this?”

As soon as the game ended, Dai Zhiwei rushed to the locker room restroom and quickly opened the system. He’d distinctly heard the reward notification after scoring, but the rewards were unchanged—one match: one point; victory: one point; goal: one point. Total: three points.

Wasn’t that the same as usual?

“Hmm? Wait!”

Dai opened the skill page and discovered that, without realizing it, his points had reached fifteen—enough to redeem a mid-tier skill.

“Which skill should I choose?” Dai wondered, frowning as he walked out of the restroom, oblivious to the strange looks from his teammates.

In the end, it was the captain, Zheng Zhi, who hadn't played that match, who kindly reminded him—

“Xiaowei, you forgot to pull up your pants! Planning to streak out there?”

“…”

…

After returning with the team from Chongqing to Guangzhou, Dai Zhiwei went straight home. Some teammates wanted to invite him for drinks—the previous owner of his body had been fond of nightlife, a regular at clubs, a master of drinking and chasing women.

In the domestic football scene, such socializing is often unavoidable.

But Dai Zhiwei now pushed all thoughts of nightlife aside, determined to secure a starting spot at Evergrande and embark on a European adventure.

As the saying goes, “How can sparrows understand the ambition of swans?”

As for clubs and beauties, those could wait for the off-season, so Dai declined his teammates’ invitations without hesitation.

“Dawei, you performed well today. Three matches for the first team, less than sixty minutes in total, and already two goals. Looks like soon I can talk to Evergrande about your new contract!” Jin Chang, a fairly influential agent in China, was practically seeing money fly before his eyes.

Had Jin Chang not visited his apartment today, Dai might have forgotten he even had an agent.

Now, Dai Zhiwei had no endorsements worth signing. Three months ago, Jin Chang had negotiated his first-team contract, and since then, they’d barely communicated.

“New contract?”

Dai recalled his current annual salary—840,000 after tax, the lowest in the Evergrande squad. Setting aside the foreign players with million-dollar salaries, his teammates earned between three and seven million after tax, making his pay modest indeed.

“Go ahead, but don’t make the contract longer than four years, and don’t set the buyout clause too high,” Dai agreed after thinking it over.

After all, no one complains about having too much money.

With Dai’s authorization, Jin Chang said his goodbyes and left—after all, Dai wasn’t yet his agency’s biggest star.

Dai Zhiwei began preparing for “retreat”—in truth, to choose his new skill.

“Wing God, which great player's skill do you recommend?” Dai, lying on his bed, started a conversation with Tsubasa Ozora in his system.

“First, you need to be clear about your most urgent goal,” Tsubasa prompted.

“My most urgent goal?” Dai thought, “To get into the starting eleven, to become a regular.”

“To become a starter, what do you think is the most convincing thing for a coach from a striker?” Tsubasa pressed.

“As a forward,” Dai replied without hesitation, “it has to be scoring goals!”

“Exactly—goals,” Tsubasa analyzed. “As a forward, your dribbling, breakthrough, and passing are already first-class in the current Super League. But Chinese players share a common flaw—lack of awareness and teamwork. For you, the most obvious shortage is positional sense and goal instinct.”

“Positional sense and goal instinct?” A younger player might have argued, but Dai, with the experience of two lifetimes, simply listened.

“Right,” Tsubasa said bluntly. “In the last match against Chongqing Lifan, you scored from a follow-up, but it was pure luck—a blind cat catching a dead mouse. Your positional sense was poor, you couldn’t find open space, and your goal instinct was virtually nonexistent.”

Dai smiled wryly, admitting Tsubasa was right.

Why, in later years, did Wu Lei keep missing one-on-ones but still get picked as the starting striker by Lippi and other national team coaches? Because his awareness was the best among Chinese players; other forwards couldn’t even get into scoring positions.

“So, my suggestion is him.” As he spoke, Tsubasa flipped the system skill page to a fifteen-point skill.

“Why him?”